


Accentuate the Positive

by UraniumFever



Series: Accentuate the Positive - m!SoSu/Nick Valentine One Shots [1]
Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Dyslexia, Fluff and Angst, M/M, PTSD, Robot Feels, Robot/Human Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-16
Updated: 2016-04-16
Packaged: 2018-06-02 01:08:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6544282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UraniumFever/pseuds/UraniumFever
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I was recently taken by the lovely Mr. Nick Valentine in the Fallout series.  These will be a collection of one-shots involving my Sole Survivor's relationship with Nick.  </p>
<p>Tags will be updated as I write more, including some more scandalous chapters.  Hopefully you enjoy my writing, I am always looking to improve!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Accentuate the Positive

**Author's Note:**

> So excited to be posting these little stories about this pair. They're very sweet to one another - I take a lot of inspiration from those ImagineYourOTP prompts and other Fallout 4 reaction posts. Below is a lovely, amazing work of art commission created by SoulArch from Tumblr of my Sole Survivor and Nick Valentine. I can't wait to commission them again in the future.

 

Hawke scratched his chin, coarse fingers brushing against the thick scruff.  There were questions mulling in his head, many were ones he could not answer and the others were too painful to bring forward, but they were the questions he found himself with every time he laid down to rest.  His eyes scanned the sky, always surprised by how many stars decorated the canvas.  In his time it had never been so many, light pollution was the likely culprit but he was grateful to be able to enjoy it now.

 

“Hey, Nick,” he turned his head slightly, the makeshift pillow of clothes adjusting for the new weight, “do you know any constellations?”

 

It was dark but he could easily see Nick’s glowing eyes as they flickered over towards him, there was a slight moment of rustling as the synth made his way closer, “Those are patterns in the sky, aren’t they?”

 

Hawke crossed his arms behind his head, staring once more at the balls of gas, “We had to learn about them in grade school.  I think,” he propped himself up slightly, pointing to a small cluster, “I think that’s Orion he was a warrior or something those three bright stars are his belt.”

 

“Hm, I’ve heard people call that ‘One Way’ after an infamous missile launcher, the star beneath it is the trigger.”

 

He smiled, “Interesting...  but I guess it makes sense.”

 

There was a slight lull in the conversation before Nick spoke again, “Shouldn’t you be asleep?”

 

“Can’t,” he shrugged even though Nick likely wouldn’t see it. 

 

There was more shifting as Nick lowered himself next to him, “Well that’s no good.”

 

“No it’s not… sadly I’m not a machine and I actually _need_ sleep.”

 

Another pause, but it didn’t need to be verbalized.  Hawke was asking to be let closer and Nick was welcoming it.  Almost too quickly the human repositioned so that his head could lay in the robot’s lap.  It made the latter chuckle.

 

“Is that really comfortable?  I have my doubts,” but he didn’t want to change positions, his metallic hand reached down into the thick mop of hair before him.  It fascinated him, mostly because so many other humans caked dirt into theirs and it never looked anything more than messy.  Hawke took the time to wash it when he could, combing it carefully.  It was likely old habits dying hard but Nick enjoyed watching and the comfortable result.

 

“Will you r---” his speech was muffled as he spoke into the patched trench coat, not wanting to pick his face up from it.  It smelled like Nick: oil, iron and cigarettes.

 

He made a face, attempting not to smile, “I’m sorry can you repeat that?”

 

Hawke tilted his head, “Will you read me a story?”

 

Of course.  He always asked to be read to and the supply of books he kept with him was never ending, ever since that Ghoul, Daisy, in Goodneighbor asked him to return her overdue library book, Hawke had been collecting them.  Nick opened the man’s bag, pushing aside the collection of stimpacks and purified water.  He pulled out a stack of the yellowed stories, “What would you like?  You have half of the _Holy Bible_ , old testament ironically enough.  A _Mr. Handy Maintenance Guide_ , _All Quiet on the Western Front_ ,” he opened the dusty tale and shook some of it off to his side, “written in German apparently.  And _To Kill a Mockingbird_.”

 

“Well obviously the last one,” he rolled over slightly, so that his nose was pressed against Nick’s inner thigh, letting him absorb the warmth of the synth while still giving him a pretty good view of the stars, “Nora loved that book, she always said if we had a little girl we’d name her Scout.”

 

Nick, making sure not to move his legs too much, readjusted his arms so that one had the book open and the other was free and continuing the affectionate rubs along Hawke’s forehead, “Wasn’t the little girl’s name actually Jean?”

 

He laughed quietly, really enjoying the way Nick’s fingers could do wonders for headaches, “Oh, I wouldn’t know.  I never read it, Nora wrote my paper on it.”

 

“Alright,” Nick didn’t want to approve of him skirting out of assignments even if they were over two hundred years ago, and truthfully he was at a loss as to how could he could ever scold this man for anything.  For all his faults, Hawke was one of the greatest things to happen to the Commonwealth - perhaps Nick was looking through rose-tinted glasses but he was ninety-nine percent sure he wasn’t: the Sole Survivor of Vault 111 was just a talented, funny and all-around good guy, “You’re lucky it’s too dark outside for you to read or I’d have you read a couple paragraphs.”

 

He groaned mockingly at the mere suggestion, leaning closer to the palm that caressed him, “You can be so cruel, Nick.”

 

Dyslexia.  That’s what Hawke had called it.  None of the others knew, except for maybe Piper and Preston but the others weren’t as close to him as Nick was.  No one was, save for a cold corpse in a vault.  Looking back, Nick could see how panicked Hawke was to tell him, worried he’d be rejected and other silly scenarios only an anxiety driven head could make up.

 

From that day forth it was easy, “Who are you calling cruel?”  From that day forth it was about the trust they gave to each other. 

 

He grinned into the hand, “Not you, detective,” there was a yawn he couldn’t hold back, “you might want to start into the first chapter before it’s too late.”

 

“At this rate you’ll only get four hours of sleep,” he worried for the human, he couldn’t pick out any other memory (except perhaps the murky ones of the real Nick) where he had cared for another living creature so diligently, “Alas,” he flipped to the first page, trying to don his best reading voice, a voice Hawke liked to describe as a good whiskey, “When he was nearly thirteen my brother Jem got his arm badly broken at the elbow...”

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoyed this story (or any of the others) please feel free to comment and help me grow as a writer - it's always appreciated.


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